


Aren't You Interesting

by BadAshWolf



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-24 03:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 20,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8354395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadAshWolf/pseuds/BadAshWolf
Summary: We start with our non heroes from the beginning of the tale first conceived. They meet as they met, but it breaks off from there. I do hope you give me a chance as I do hope mainstream media gives Edward and Oswald a chance. This is such a wonderful opportunity to conceptualize. As a queer nerd, perhaps together in this we can fight off the waves of intolerance and queerbaiting that has many of us circling the drain.One lesbian nerd's take on slash male fanfiction, hah. Let's do this!





	1. Chapter 1

_Aren't you interesting,_ he muttered darkly to the broken clock on his desk. It still functioned, obviously, but it was different: cobbled back together to form something interesting. Bit off at timing, but always ticking away.

It was important to keep pacing, it reminded him, giving him way too much backtalk lately.

The throat clearing from an annoying mouth breather derailed the silent argument as he followed the annoying Detective Bullock out the doors of the forensics office of the GCPD back to the bullpen of detective's desks. Another debriefing, another wasted effort of his insanely capable mind, some inane criminal of the hour.

But he’d be back with his things shortly to finish the argument, he reminded himself, he would master the cobbled clock.

Following the oaf up the stairs out to the main lobby before up more stairs to the office of the commissioner he stilled as Bullock stopped in his tracks and swore once. “Fuck, is that Fish’s umbrella guy?”

Looking up he saw a shorter man enter the precinct. He walked weird, bit his eyes darted around as if seeing through each question for the important part. How unusual he was.

The forensic scientist perceived little else than the puzzle in front of him. Waving off the annoying detective he rose and walked towards the man, he seemed familiar. The detectives were interested in this man, this Oswald Cobblepot. And he found himself rather interested as well.

 

 

Debating starting this story... Huge DC nerd... Only if I got loads of encouragement though... :P

 

 


	2. Surprise Left My Life a Long Time Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We all know that a sky with clouds in it is much more interesting than one that doesn’t have any.”   
> ― Jodi Picoult, House Rules

Exterior Shot: It was midday, but the sun never seemed to shine too brightly on the streets of Gotham these days. 

  
  
Interior Shot: The bustling hub of the Gotham City Police Department 

 

The sloppy detective completely forgotten, Nygma waved him off as he walked ahead around the outer edges of the floor on the level above Mr Cobblepot, eyeing him rather obviously if anyone was looking. He was sure no one was, they must all be captivated like he was by this infamous newcomer.

Nygma walked in his general direction wondering dimly why his sensory memory was already taking him towards the same set of desks. But it didn't matter why, he just wanted to get a bit closer and observe. So intent on this, he didn’t realize he had an excited anticipatory grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he eyed the punk-haired man up from an increasingly closer distance. Something the target of his gaze would easily notice if he glanced even once, and he looked once, and maybe again.

The shorter man seemed to fidget with his gloves impatiently, as if people to talk to and things to see to. When he was a few dozen yards away, the man seemed to sense him and turned his head to meet his eyes before they both glanced away quickly. Nigma's feet didn’t stop until he was barely more than an arms distance from the man, even though this Oswald Cobblepot was looking anywhere else as if to ignore him. But he wouldn't have any of that failure before he’d had a chance to explore this puzzle. It was all rather exciting, being within touching distance, and he barely had the second to figure out why touching mattered because at that moment the smartly dressed (alleged?) criminal walked away from him. He walked with the sign of a bad injury down the stairs as if giving up on the whole thing and leaving. 

 

_ Well, that’s utterly unacceptable. _ He thought,  _ Maybe I should say something, I should probably say something. _ But he needed the man to stop walking away first, so his hand rose to grab the elbow of the retreating form, stilling him instantly as his arm stiffened in shock and he turned around immediately meeting his eyes in challenge. Now at the foot of the stairs that led down to the entrance of the precinct and out of Nygma life, the forensic scientist couldn’t will his hand to let go just yet. Tilting his head to the side, he asks with eyes wider than the rims of his glasses, “Can I help you?”  _ There, that was a normal question, _ he liked asking questions even though he usually knew the answer. 

The shorter man turned his head slightly and narrowed one eye while somehow still looking down his nose at Nygma. But a moment passed while they stared, curiously sizing the other up. And another moment or two passed before Cobblepot pulled his arm out of Nygma grasp, both men seemed surprised it had been allowed this long.

Edward Nygma trailed off in thought wondering if he is scowling at him, or if that’s just his face. the shorter man snips back “I don't think so...”  His voice is nasally but sounds nice, or at least interesting. As Nygma eyebrows crinkle together to remember what he'd asked only a few seconds before,  _something about helping, or being useful,_  as the other man breaks eye contact and his eyes roam over Nygma once before he adds a bit less caustically,  “...can you?”  Nygma finds himself a bit flustered but he can’t figure out why. That’s not right, he can always figure it out. But... it was a bit exhilarating to be so confused.

After a moment passed where the taller man seemed frozen with a slow blush appearing quite obviously on his somewhat pale complexion, the shorter man seemed to lose a bit of patience before asking, calmer than the normal that a stranger like Nygma wouldn’t appreciate, “What do you want?”

_ Yes! Another question!  _ And what better way to answer a direct question with...“What I want, the poor have, the rich need, and if you eat it you'll die.”

Continuing to stare at him, now more than a little confused, Oswald asks. ”Is this... are you asking me a riddl-?”

At the last word, Nygma gets excited and cuts him off, asking a bit loudly “Why? Do you like riddl-?” Nygma is sure that Oswald almost smiles, he can tell when someone is annoyed and someone is amused. Usually. He was, at least, mostly sure this time. 

Opening his mouth to respond, Oswald eyes something over Nygma’s shoulder before darting back to the curious man before him, a determined cold emotion beginning to seep back into his eyes as he sneered, “No.”

 

It was a bit frustrating, as he realized that the shorter man didn’t seem to be trying to figure out that riddle, and it was one of his trademarks. People usually liked it, he thought. He was stirred from his internal monologue by the other man bemusedly asking, perhaps a bit quieter and perhaps as a faster clip, as if rushed for time. “Friend...who are you?” 

_Oh! A question,_ he liked those. Especially from interesting people. He almost burst with his answer, wanting to introduce himself. “It’s nothing.. Ah.. I’m Edward…. Edward Nygma. I know who you are though so you don’t..you know… Hey, did you know that emperor penguin- What’s wrong? Am I standing too close?” He rambled and interrupted himself, something he hates from anyone else. But it might be necessary, because something changed. The face of the man he’d seen initially returned as the smug, condescending look came back. This time it seems a bit more forced into place. Odd.

The man before him eyes over his shoulder again.  _ What’s he trying to- _ , “Cobblepot." It's more the cold, accusatory tone of the man behind him, then the realization that Bullock, who'd he'd followed up here, and Gordon, who Oswald Cobblepot seemed to look at familiarly that shakes him out of whatever he was in. He shouldn’t be trying to connect with the criminal but he just cant find himself to regret it when he felt his anxiety lessen a bit over the reason for the change in behavior. Looking back to the shorter man, he let some of his disdain and exacerbation of the police wash over his face.

  
A tiny crack of amusement comes through the tough disdain for a brief moment, Nygma grins shameless as his back is still to the detectives. Oswald really shouldn't respond kindly if he was on the other side of the law, but Nygma finds himself hearing an almost relaxed voice dismiss him. “Nice to meet you...Edward. Best to keep moving though.” 

In for a penny...He dares to wink at Cobblepot as he mutters a light, “Will do..." before walking back to his office and turning his back on them all.

Time to get back to his things, the day was already too interesting without more clues to add to the riddle, he had enough to piece through as it was.

 

 

 

Alrighty! First real chapter! What ya think? Should I just bugger off? :P Trying to get my feel for these characters... See y'all on the other side!

 

*Obligatory shameless request for reviews*


	3. Always let life be wild. Forever have life be interesting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love is becoming each other's consequences.”   
> ― Ben Szuhaj
> 
> I really hope everyone else out there was losing their minds this last episode of Gotham. Couldn't help but think we needed a bit more of this ship in our lives.. Review to keep me going!

Several days went by uneventfully. Or that it seemed. Rather a bit happened with Falcone and Maroni, but he came out on top. Things were rather tough and go for a while, but he plead his case quite well, since he wasn’t dead or wishing for it. He was A bit surprised that everything was going well between the two mob bosses he was double agents for, at this point it was a bit of an agreement that as long as he only gave the other side basic information he wouldn’t be chopped up into pieces or taking a long walk off a short pier...again. He was given a club, and expected to make double the expected profit, as to split between the two he owed the continued attachment of his head on his shoulders to.

He shouldn't feel as pleased as he does, the entire plan went to shit regarding Gordon refusing to come out to his party, he knew it was a big loss to his whole king of gotham plan. The success, and his literal survival, depended on this opening party at his new club. 

But he was a bit happy though, because he met someone interesting. His youth and adulthood so far was full of trying to be a man his mother would be proud of. his mother often spoke of knowing when someone was important, and to not let them go. But then he got into things with Fish.   
  


But now he thought of the strange taller man, . He always laughed it off as part of his mother's amazing stories but now, it felt disturbingly important.

He can't help feeling lost, feeling as if he needed to say something very important but he just couldn't. But the idea of what would happen if he didn't, but when he thought too deeply on it it flew off from his mind. It happened sometimes, don't you hate when that happens?

But he had a schedule to keep, important to keep the red out of his ledger. But... that man he met, There was something about the passion and delirium behind his eyes whenever he asked or clarified a question. And Penguin, Oswald, was still confused. He ever really had time for it before but maybe now he did have a second as he thought back on the face and the cheekbones of the man whose stood in his path and grabbed his arm. He shouldn't have been allowed to get away with that. Any other person would have been killed for it... but he never would have given that order to that Edward Nygma. There was something interesting about that man. Something about the insistent question mark standing in his path.

Cobblepot sat back in the ornate chair, staring at an empty seat imaging how interesting it would be to have that man at his table. Butch stood at the doorway, not exactly eyeing him in disdain, but nowhere near respect either. It jarred Cobblepot from his emotions enough to send him off for the night. Not even pausing to voice concern for his well-being, the larger man left. Still sore about Fish, probably.

Hitching his injured leg onto his knee, he massaged the badly healed injury he'd taken. With the other hand he started to possibly continued, rapping his fingertips down on the table. He really should be out hand delivering more invitations to powerful potential allies in the city.. But he couldn’t help think of Edward instead.

Having a thought, he riffled through the invitations, looking for anyone else...ah yes, there it was. An invitation to the Commissioner himself. He smirked a bit, grabbing a few others that might be in the area before looking at the clock. Just after noon, definitely an acceptable time to revisit the precinct. It’d been almost a week since he’d been there last. It might not seem terribly out of place.    
  


Edward Nygma stood at the printer, waiting for the documents he needed to deliver to Detective Gordon before he got in the morning, fresh off fornicating with his own new boss, Lee whatever. Waiting there he noticed one of the girls who worked in this office, something Kringle, with her twin sister Isabella. It was odd how closely they looked alike while having such different personalities. Isabella was clueless but agreeable. And the other. Kringle girl was darker spirited, enjoyed pranking and being mean. It was weird, it wasn't a riddle or puzzle or a joke it was just the desire to be mean. And that girl was mean, a bully. Her along with that detective he didn't really know but yearned to just witness the end of, well that was a weird thought.

  
Anyway the printer stills its mechanic and the documents appeared finished, he gathered them up and held them a bit closer than a more alpha type would, taking the longer path back to the hub avoiding the Kringles and their Banes before down to his office, or that  was his intent before he landed in the main room of the precinct. He stilled, sensing a clue he missed in his surrounding and peered around. Somehow or perhaps he knew, the eye of fate turned a bit and drew his attention anywhere but where he intended to go. Barely holding on to the print offs on the case he didnt think was important at all, his fingers gripped down on something that felt almost like a port key he needed to search out. Nygma was suddenly sure he was meant to report to the commissioner on this at once, and this confused him. He stilled in the main hub seeing a silhouette he shouldn't remember as vividly, before striding almost in a run to the stairs that led him to that offence, or that silhouette he rapped once on the door before peering his head awkwardly in. 

"Commissioner? Have those reports." Did he hear a sharp intake of breath from that silhouette as the commissioner barked permission to enter? Nygma obeyed, opening the door keeping his head down in an act of plausible deniability, he marched forward and placed the papers down on the desk. "If that will be all." His anxiety spoke for him, he couldn't take much more of this. He couldn't even think of looking around for the other man that he had no way of knowing as abolutetly as he did that he was in the same room as he. But Nygma was doomed, and he found himself seeking the other man out. He slowly brought his head up as if to acknowledge what he already knew was there, meeting (of course) Cobblepot's eyes showing back the same regretful anticipation both feeling the other had this all planned while still wondering just how they manage their own good luck.


	4. A Fire To Be Kindled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled.”   
> ― Plutarch
> 
> Authors Note: Kudos to the Gotham writers for making this show a hell of a lot more interesting with this storyline... Though, perhaps there are a few sins I can remedy..

The smartly dressed man on the other side of the desk smiled openly, pleased at the conversation thus far. Not only had he delivered the invitation, but he’d sussed out of the commissioner that  there was something up with the new circus in town. Regardless of the headline, the Flying Graysons, there was rumors of something more sinister going on behind the scenes. These unknowns were new players. He had aspirations on controlling the chessboard, it was important to make notes of the pieces. He didn't know how he could use that knowledge yet he was optimistic. But at the knock and already familiar voice, he was derailed.

 

The door opened and Oswald turned to look at the newcomer.

 

Commissioner Loeb sat at his desk, looking to the strange forensic scientist. Raising an eyebrow at the man, waiting for the report, he noticed he seemed rather more weird than usual. “Nygma, right?”

 

Edward nodded dully, trying to steal his expression into a blank mask as he held the reports in his grasp, almost white knuckles as he tried to avoid even admitting that the third man as in the room. He shuffled forward and dropped them, or let his fingers release them, and the files landed on the commissioner's desk with a too loud thud, at least to Edward. He winced, and a chuckle to his side drew his attention as he directed his question rather unintentionally towards the man he'd been trying to ignore and asked him instead “Is there anything else you need?”

 

Oswald didn't chuckle again, but raised an eyebrow as a smirk drew on the side of his mouth. He opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated, looking back to Leon who was leafing through the files for highlighted notes. Having a second to to privacy, Cobblepot took a minute to look thoughtful and ran his yes up and down Edward for a moment before meeting his eyes again and allowing the smirk to grow on his face. He noticed that nigma seemed to be blinking more than was surely normal, and his face had a bit of a warm glow to it at the attention and insulation of theft exchange. Unfortunately they were brought back to their environment as the a iled being dropped and closed as it hit a wooden desk. 

 

“Thank you then, Nygma. Proceed with your other cases.”

 

Feeling the sand race through an hourglass as a pace too fast for his enjoyment, Nygma nodded silently before turning his back on his boss, and in the second he had he met Oswald's eyes before muttering, as if to Commissioner Loeb.

 

Oswald looks at Nygma as the man turns to leave, catching his eyes and taking the message as meant for him as Nygma almost mutters, “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to find me..." Oswalds eyes widen, unable to do much else as he takes in the smile, barely being careful enough to nod once slightly instead of something entirely too revealing. Nygma continues walking out, ignoring the acknowledgement of commissioner loeb.

 

Later finds the suited man pacing in a limping state. Oswald decided to try again with Gordon, perhaps simply not asking him was enough. He needed to be a friend, and friends reciprocated. It gave oswald an idea. If he got a foothold with that case, he could use to to convince the detectivess that allying with him was a good thing. He could talk to people the cops couldn't, he could get into that cicus. But going to a public place alone, or even with his people...  Perhaps he could use this to his advantage.

 

A day or two later, Nyga was surprised to find a handwritten but anonymous note..not, an invitation to Haley’s Circus, with an enclosed ticket behind a small note.

 

“Hope to find you at the gate, tomorrow around eight”, in a rather sporadic but still loopy and intriguing handwriting. Nygma picked up the ticket curiously, wondering what brought this all about.

 

The night in question fell on a Friday and the man in this particular mirror appeared quite anxious. The sighs and somehow audible eye rolls from butch really weren’t helping. He grabbed the edges of his lapels, a darker olive green which stood out nicely, he thought, with the monochromatic but darker pinstriped suit. Adjusting his collar he dismisses potential ties he's laid out, worrying that he was already towing the line of overdressing for something as casual as a circus. 

 

He couldn't help it though, he didn't want his best dressed day in a casket. Gripping his walking cane, he stared down haltingly at his bad leg. Biting his lip, worrying that it made him freakish or unattractive. But...nothing to be done about that, and he pushed his mind to focus on his mischievous hair. It always spiked randomly in furiously chaotic directions, resembling the mind beneath it perhaps. Smirking into the mirror he checked his pockets once more for his ticket. He knew there was a chance that the other man might not show, but he might. And... wasn't that a delirious concept? He tried to keep the reason for this night out in mind, he was supposed to be infiltrating this world like he'd done before...but he was just so excited to the chance at ..something else entirely.

  
  
Edward stood in front of his bathroom mirror and stared blankly at his reflection. His left eye twitched as his mind argued with himself that this was likely all a prank by someone in his department. He knew they joked about him made fun of his jokes. Jokes, puns, and riddles he’d been so happy to conceptualize. He thought perhaps for a few moments that he was brilliant and good whenever he thought of a particularly good one. But everyone at the precinct just looked at him weirdly when he got to the good parts, just laughed at him. This was probably all a joke. So he was determined to appear casual, not taking it seriously. He'd have room later to lord it over then a bit that at least he knew it was a joke, so they didn't really win. 

But he did wonder... it wasn't totally impossible that Oswald could be be a behind this, a genuine gentleman caller. Perhaps he did see a bit interested. Nygma knew this could be important the other man was powerful, and he could use that power. Especially since he was having trouble holding of his worse side every time he is overcome with rage at work. Lately it was getting... difficult not to lash out at the brutish stupidity around him. He ruffled his hair to make it look at disheveled as possible, as invulnerable as possible. Adjusting his worn pinstripe suit he pulled off his tie. Smirking at his casual if not possibly ravished look so far he messed up his hair a bit more and unbuttoned the few at the top of his shirt. He certainly looked a bit disheveled now, and it certainly wouldn't be the best impression if this was a real date… 


	5. Who Better Than a Criminal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How is it every time we're talking about the real world, you manage to bring up fantasy, and every time we're talking about fantasy, you manage to bring up the real world?"
> 
> Please note, this is meant to seem chaotic.. We are following trains of thought for a bit <3

  
He almost didn't go, the precinct was worse than usual that day. The twice damned Kringle siblings seemed to always find a reason down to his office to whisper in the doorway, or just outside of it. He had to venture out of his compromised but still relatively safe office often to deliver reports or get evidence from elsewhere in the building. It seemed every time his twitched in their direction more than once, hearing a voice that told him to end their chatter once and for all. It was only getting worse. It would make sense that they were tricking him, but he tried to separate the two things in his mind. He was bullied by cunts and asshole cops during the day, but the optimistic notification he received anonymously was separate. It was okay, it wasn't the same thing. He didn't have to corner and threaten a detective to tell him the truth on the invitation, but that fantasy got him through the afternoon slowness that came from his coworkers scavenging and devolving into some sort of food coma. 

Disgusting animals.

Later, he sighed, determinedly ignoring any reflective surface since he walked away from his own mirror. He was arguing and interrupting himself, and it seemed to go on for hours.. So, he was a bit of a frustrated mess on the way out of his apartment and through the commute to Haley’s Circus. Every minute or so, the debasement from his psyche got too loud and he would grab his hair and pull a bit with that hand over his ear to make it stop, or at least quiet a bit.

Too quickly, or much later, Nygma arrived as his desitnation. Leaving the vechicle, h walked and then he waited nervously at the entrance to the strange place. It was warmer out than usual, so he unbuttoned another button in his possibly wrinkled long sleeved shirt and rustled his hair once more, trying to avoid the curious but expectant eyes of the ticket taker. He had his ticket from the invitation he’d been sent, but he was still arguing with himself on if he should even indulge it far enough to get into the place. It would be interesting at least, he could just go in and have a look around. It wouldn't have to be awkward, surely not as weird as if he'd waited awkwardly. 

His anxiety dictated that he act within the crowd. And a sizable crowd seemed to be lining up. While it was a few minutes before the ticket declared that start of the main events, Edward was too nervous to wait out till that time said, it might show that he was waiting for someone, instead of taking the invitation at face value That way might lead to being embarrassed, and he’d kill before he was embarrassed in public again. He thought again of the precious acids he could use to dissolve Tom Dougherty's body...

 

Perhaps to his credit, the sender of the initiation was already inside. With the gossip and clout owning the club came from, and perhaps a little bit of the infamy he’d managed to gain so far,he figured out his way in. He’d gotten a line about the younger adults traveling with the circus and how they often enjoyed the nightlife of wherever they went, but because of the trouble they often got into… It wasn’t encouraged. He let a few rumors go that they might be welcome to his establishment in a mutually beneficial and entirely unofficial capacity.

 

Butch took care of the details, and mentioned a bigger security for the next fortnight at the club might be in order and it was done. Playing the balance between the chaotic circus and the lawful Detective Gordon would be tricky, but he was doing pretty well with the two mob bosses… This would be easier, and less likely he’d get killed for trying to play both sides.

 

He’s arranged lunch with a younger upstart within the circus, a male several years younger than he but Cobblepot didn't want to disregard the sense of intuition to know he might be important. He was a stranger sort of freak, and Cobblepot knew his kind very well. Something about that grin, like he was in on a Killing Joke that everyone else had pages left to figure out. It was unsettling, but not an immediate threat. Perhaps there was an opportunity to invest.

 

Cobblepot had the the lad let him into the an hour or so early. It gave him the time, mostly to pace between a few different seats and viewing areas to decide, the reanalyze, the best seat in the house. The boy's parents were harder to convince and Cobblepot did detect a strange power struggle between two patriarchs of seemingly rival families. But the kid seemed to know they way to navigate the area, though he did notice a wince whenever that boy’s own father rather a palm or voice in anger. It did not settle well within Oswald the connotations of this.

 

After Oswald left the younger man to get ready for the night's proceedings, he anxiously walked towards where the entrance to the circus was, hoping desperately that Oswald accepted his invitation. Night was almost fallen, the sun halfway past the horizon. The air was cooler, but still warm. In his darker pinstripe suit he was pretty comfortable. The air picked up a bit as he got closer to the gates, Butch following closely at his heels. He was determinedly ignoring the eye rolls and sighs from the taller man, because when it got really bad a quick glare would silence him again. But he forgot about all that as soon as he saw Nygma walk through the gate as the waves of people attending began. So he stood off to the side and waited patiently, trying for all of but failing at the sight of a more chaotic than expected taller awkward man all disheveled, like he’d rolled out of bed and came here. Or just finished rolling in a bed with someone else, something much like jealousy made his eye twitch a few times.

 

He was determined to appeal and dress formally, because he’d worked so hard to be more than the guy who held the umbrella for a tailored suit. Now he wore one. But this… It should be a crime to dress like that in public. Nyga’s darker colored shirt, unbuttoned halfway down, half tucked into his trousers, and hair completely askew… Well, it gave him some ideas.

 

As he approached the man, he greeted him, “Mister Nygma, so glad you-”

 

But he was cut off, and heard perhaps the most intriguing question interrupt him from the somehow feral forensic scientist, forever changing the story...

  
“What if I wanted to kill someone?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

AN: A hearty hug to my fellow queer etc nerds who hold desperately to the validation of romances such as these. We face an uphill battle against our purist compatriots. may we agree on progress and ingenuity. <3


	6. The Sky is Full of Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stars, too, were time travelers. How many of those ancient points of light were the last echoes of suns now dead? How many had been born but their light not yet come this far? If all the suns but ours collapsed tonight, how many lifetimes would it take us to realize we were alone? I had always known the sky was full of mysteries—but not until now had I realized how full of them the earth was.”  
> ― Ransom Riggs
> 
> AN: written before, during, and most feverently, after the most recent episode of Gotham. What a disheartening episode for our fandom... But it does seem too heavy handed to be a real romance, hopefully.. They ain't sinking our ship yet tho, no worries!

Oswald Cobblepot watched the taller man’s eyes narrow a bit, and he felt for a moment as if he might be one of the cases the other man was working on. Like his level of threat was being judged. It wasn’t the same cold calculating look that the others at the precinct gave them lately... This was much less lawful, like Nygma was deciding if he was a personal threat. It's intensity waned within a few few blinks of the eye. That was even weirder, somehow. It nearly seemed like two different people looked at him in the span of that sentence and the silence that followed before Penguin could respond. The moment felt important, it could change everything. He wasn't sure what the right response was...but he was used to having one chance to answer a question correctly, the former umbrella boy and slave to more masters than he'd ever admit to. Strong consequences for answering wrongly, or even hesitating, were his bread and butter. How Cobblepot had gotten this far. So he leaned forward, and spoke the first thing that came to mind.

Oswald squared up and narrowed his eyes, scowling a bit as was his mask of power. 

“Why? Did someone hurt you?”

 

Edward caught up to what he accidentally said as he was stirred out of his thought process. His eyes widened but he was answered before he could talk the question back. Edward wasn't expecting the words, and didn’t understand the exchange. Then,  Nygma suddenly couldn't remember what he just said, as if one moment he was staring off thinking the worst possibilities to the next, seeing Penguin standing just in front of him asking him if he'd been hurt.  _ More gaps in memory, not good.  _ Even Edward was confused at this point, he felt his face heating up, desperately hoping he wasn’t blushing, waiting for Penguin to walk off and forget this terrible idea.

 

"No!" He said rather defensively, He contintinued but stammered,"the p-poor have it, the r-rich need it, It’s n-nothing... Nothing at all really..." Lowering his voice, "Just annoying coworkers." And his eyes threatened to darken again before he shook it off, that instincual nervoisness and unsureness leaving him with something he rearely elaborated, though this time perhaps falsely "It was a joke.” unsure how the other man would react. _Don't leave!_ But he didn’t leave, he twitched a bit at the same riddle again though.  His usually cleverest in the room mind was playing catch up to the fact that Oswald was here, and being possibly protective and vengeful on his behalf, and it was not some cruel prank.  _ Damn Dougherty and the Kringles for this paranoia. _

Unconvinced, Cobblepot pressed, “If it’s nothing, or becomes something. I can help. You don’t have to...do anything..alone.” e was rather hot under the collar at the idea of this darker side of the awkward forensic scientist. Oswald twitched as the other man spoke, and he felt his eye do a weird tick as he breathed in and responded. He didn't even break eye contact, stepping a bit closer as the other man rambled a bit, perhaps nervous now, letting his eyes roam over the other man's appearance appreciatively. He thought he might see a bit of a blush forming on the paler man's cheeks but it might just be his imagination. This Nygma was a strange puzzle, or perhaps several puzzles tumbled into one attractive box.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Nygma allowed,unsure what to do with that sort of blank check offer. Also Oswald was studying him intensely. People didn’t do that without some sort of condescending ‘ _what’s wrong with you_ ’ type of analysis. People didn’t look at him with something akin to hunger.

The many tiny lights that lit up the circus illuminated the back of Nygma as they stared at each other for a few moments, the taller man unsure how to break the strange tension. He bit his lip anxiously, his shrewder side taking over. Ne noticed the movement brought Oswald's eyes to his lip, and he thought he saw Oswald repeat the action. He saw the line getting longer to be admitted in and thought that was a good a segue way as any.  “Ah...crowd forming, time to go in?” He asked, voice a bit higher than he was going for. 

Hopefully he could be forgiven for this, and whatever else he might have said that he forgot. He was nervous, this was strange, how he was feeling. It was a different feeling than he was used to.

 

Oswld shook his head before changing his head to nod along with Nygma’s words. The main show would be starting soon, if he wanted to kill two or three birds with one stone he had to get into the big tent so he could figure out his next step in the plan to integrate into happenings of the circus people. 

“Yes of course, sorry, got distracted. We can talk about it later if it’s not pressing..”

“Of course, talk later.” But that came out definitely lower, and a bit slyly than perhaps Nygma meant. Oswald laughed in a higher pitch than he would have liked, hopefully not at the level of a giggle. (It was absolutely a giggle) 

So they walked in with the crowd, finding seats near the middle. Oswald tried to remind himself that he was here for investment purposes, there was something about the ginger with the sinister smile too deep for someone so young. 

He walked by the same boy he’d met up with earlier, nodding his thanks and appreciation while Nygma observed curiously. 

Music began as they sat in their seats, and shortly more lights shown on the stage, making it easier to see the elaborate acrobatic set up. There were already scantily clad men and women, in very bright colors, climbing the rope ladders that led to swings. Edward found himself watching the angels they swung from, and tried to see their faces calculate what they needed to do to grab and swing across the stage without falling to the ground. No safety net.

Oswald thought it was interesting, but he was here for two more important things than entertainment. As ill luck would have it, he noticed Detective Gordon sitting with some woman a few rows down. He eyes Nygma out of the corner of his eye, happy to see he was at least interested, if the darting wide open eyes were anything to go by. In the beats between he caught the eye of a walking vendor and signaled him to grab whatever snacks and drinks the man had on him. Paying him handsomely, he handed popcorn to Nygma who took it while smiling, his hand brushing Penguins as he accepted the bag. Oswald tried to ignored the warmth and anticipation at the barest of contact, as Edward smiled widely and thankfully before turneding back to the show, leaving Penguin a few seconds to blink through the near blinding warmth the contact and then the bright smile in his direction stirred. Oswald couldn't look away for more than a few seconds at a time, he hoped he wan't being too obvious about it.

He got less careful. Minutes passed through the overture of the performance before Nygma felt that was he was being closely observed. Realizing why, he handed the popcorn back to Penguin with an apology that was lost under the noise of the performance. He leaned forward, trying to ignore the look that meant he wasn't acting as a good companion, hording the food like that. He tried to focus on the good in front of him, this night was too tense for him, he wasn't doing anything right.

 

Feeling embarrassed as Nygma caught him staring, he accepted the offered snacks as the taller man leaned forward to look back at what was going on, the acrobats were upping the event, getting into the swing of things. Taking note that he was being too obvious about ogling the man, he mentally degraded himself on making the other man feel uncomfortable. Now holding Nygma didn't want anyway, he looked around before handing it off to a few kids sitting on the other side of him who took it instantly. Nygma was distracted by this and grinned happily at Penguin before back to the stage again. 

  
Now confident that he’d saved the moment by at least giving the food to someone who wanted it, he daring threw an arm around Nygma's chair, leaning back as if just getting comfortable. Hopefully Nygma would lean back and he could salvage the evening, Cobblepot hoped could get something right at least.


	7. Mad Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are having a rough go of it on TV, hope date night goes better...

Finally after a few minutes he was rewarded with Nygma leaning back. The taller man stiffened as he noted the contact, then relaxed against penguin. He shuffled a bit, resting a bit more weight against Oswald, the crown of his hair brushed against Oswald's cheek. Oswald himself leaned down a bit, resting his check on the top of Nygma’s head slightly. Both men felt smiles tug at the corners of their mouths as the tried to focus on the entertainment in the center ring below.

 

It seems things were heating up on the stage as well. The methodical acrobatic routine was joined by, and then stilted by, a strange choice of performance in stage combat. Unfortunately it was interrupted by a tapping on his free shoulder, turning with a sneer to meet the strangely tense teenage that was his lifeline into Haley’s Circus, confused he barely heard the boy whisper or repeatedly whisper,  “now is a good time to leave, and... I'd like to come with you.”

 

Penguin looked back to the stage and the tensing of the man across his other arm made him to turn to him as well, he was met with the calculating but openly curious eyes of his date. Nygma only looked at Penguin and the boy, Jerome or something. Nygma had already chosen the more interesting thread. Penguin decided to follow this, things were going alright so far, but what he knew of Edward Nygma, that man would always adore his puzzles. it would be interesting and Nygma clearly found it more interesting than the ensuing chaos on the floor. Not a staged combat then. Seeing Detective Gordon stand up and make his way down to the stage, he nodded back to Jerome. It might be wise to get out before the detective knew he was here… and knew Edward was here with him. Not only was he trying to keep this subtle to ascertain possible alliances or tools, he considered Edward Nygma an important concern at his side and the unwanted attention it would likely bring to both of them. If something was happening, or if the GCPD thought something was happening, it would bring him and his companion under an inconvenient lens. He spared another look to the chaotically curious eyes of the awkward but insanely attractive man now leaning into his arms to catch, his hand going to Oswald's knee and grabbing it. His mind more determined to reward this reaction and interest. Nygma wanted more more clues of the exchange between Cobblepot and the stranger ginger adolescent.

 

Jerome didn't really look at the stage, his problem was pretty unrelated at the moment. He neede to get out of there before someone found out what he did. He didn't regret it much, his whorish mother deserved much worse for what he'd been forced to accept as normal.

 

The relatively distant yelling continued but Gordon seems close to restoring some sort of order. There wasn't much time, and at least two of the three understood that. Taking a step away he gestured to a rather innocuous likely exit from the area and Nygma rose a second before Penguin, but they both followed the boy out of curiosity and some sort of possibly unfounded trust.

 

Now Jerome led the two older powerful men out of the tent as the stupid blood feud changed from brawling to arguing after a few moments of police interaction that failed temporarily. He got a vibe of the local law enforcement in the place earlier, and he was rather anxious that the idiot acrobats were attracting attention to the one night he wished it absent. Time to go. Perhaps he could prove useful to Mister Cobblepot, he knew a few things living the life he led thus far. The shorter man with the strange walk led him back to his car, signaling to one of his drivers, or perhaps they were bodyguards.

 

Nygma mentioned that he had gotten a taxi here and could easily call one back, the others needed wait. If it was a matter of business,

 

Penguin shook his head dismissing the idea. He insisted on dropping Nygma off himself, to assure his safety. Tilting his head ot the side while smiling, Nygma agreed. He didn't want to wait around and attract any attention himself. This dalliance with Oswald was very interesting, but appearing as a companion in front of any police presence was showing cards and limiting future possibilities. He daringly lifted a hand to run his knuckles down penguins face before he nodded and got in Penguins ride first, who followed before Jerome clamored in gracelessly behind them before slamming the door closed behind him. The noise brought the two men out of their thoughts and they sneered almost identically before the car roared to life and began the drive to their first stop.Oswald found himself on autopilot as he sat between the younger boy and Edward. His was too anxious to speak much to Edward, and the drive was over much too soon as they arrived at Nygma’s home.

 

Embarking the car and decidedly closing the car behind them both before Jerome thought this their destination, Oswald walked Edward back to his apartment door. Nearing the end of the interesting night, Nygma turned as his foot reached the top step outside the main door, keys already in hand. Turning to look down, Oswald was a sight, much shorter being on a downward step regardless of the normal height difference  He met his gaze and chuckled despite himself at the frustrated look on Cobblepots face. The noise softened his scowl though.

  
“This did not go as planned.” Oswald said shortly, feeling a warm emotion like embarrassment betray his face. He had a bit of relief as the taller, much taller now, man smiled down before responding. "Tonight was a puzzle Oswald," He murmured, barely louder than an excited whisper, "I couldn't have asked for more...” Trailing off, he took two steps down to be almost at Penguins height before leaning in for a hug. Penguin accepted it, or rather didn't move away as he was a bit stunned at the affection. Nygma overwhelmed him. He felt the taller man nuzzle his cheek for a moment, and he might have pushed back with the smallest of moans before the Edward stepped back, then walked around him back up the steps. That and unlocking the door muchwas much quicker than it took to return Gobblepot back to reality from the drowning heat of the contact and affection as he found himself staring rather smitten at Nygma who smiled knowingly before opening the door and slinking through it.

“Merry meet again, Oswald.” and didn't wait before closing the door quietly behind him, it locking itself  as it latched.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take the slow path for a bit, let our duo find their place as the events of the season begin to lay groundwork. I confess to losing inspiration as Gotham shat on our ship... Should we really expect more from that team? *sigh* Anyway, I'll remain optomistic until the rest of this season. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please hit kudos or even a thumbs up style review if you're out there. This is the only fanfic I'm writing by the seat of my pants. Fear not, Im a Dungeon Master for area DND games, I can tell a great improvised story! haha
> 
> Love you, just keep fighting!

Returning to the car, his face betrayed a grin unbecoming of a criminal underlord judging by the curious expression from the ginger left in the car. Oswald tried to keep a stoic, lawful evil expression, but his eyes betrayed them as they shimmered for a few moments. Then, schooling his expression, he narrowed his eyes a bit, and the younger circus adolescent understood it was back to business. Mister Cobblepot said, “Let us return to the club, and assure our staff that we had been there all night. A new name might work, perhaps J. Does that work for you...Mister J?”

 

The boy grinned in a way that seemed too wide for his face and nodded. “Mister J sound perfect.”

  
  
  
  


Later, and finally, the gradually less vague attempts to get her playing the piano paid off. Whille he loved her dearest of all, he wanted things to go well for his mother. His and her life were more important than her feelings…. so he encouraged songs that were more instrumental than vocal, and it was slow, but she was getting the hint.  Penguin sat at the center table and watched his mother play. They’d gone over her favorite songs in the past few days, and settled on a few a bit more… in her range. He didn't want her to ever be hurt by someone being rude, drunk idiots tended to beg forgiveness after the deed is done rather than ask permission or be polite. Several patrons had to be reminded in the alley out back.

 

Now the sound stilled as his mother drew attention as the ginger headed early twenty something Jerome saddled up to the piano, gushing over her form and style. If the strange boy even did a thing towards her, he'd have him sliced and diced, but right now it seemed she was filling the mother role he'd lacked...or forcibly did not have. Penguin wasn't new to the idea of doing what needed to be done, and, or rather because of that, he watched them for a moment who he should be more worried for. Luckily, Jerome merely gushed praised for a few minutes before asking her if she desired a glass of water or soda and them taking her ordered he wandered off. He hoped he imagined hissing on his hips and her rapt attention as his nothing , but ugh. Nevermind that now..

 

Now he glared at what was before him. The bald intense man, Zaz, stood next to someone who'd threatened his life and help others vastly superior. Butch.

 

He seemed different now, the balder man claimed he brought him to heel but still it was strange. He thought he'd heard desperate noises breaking through her supposedly soundproof walls of the lower levels of the club. Almost impressive that, and now was the first of that labor

 

The larger man stood with eyes downcast. It raced his blood to know that he'd finally won over this fight. Only a week or so had passed, or perhaps a bit longer…Penguin knew, and got an unsettling vibe off the bald man which told him not to peel way too many layers to the punishment. There would be time to ferret that out later, now though. Now was a time to revel in success and victory. He thought he heard the larger made man utter something subserviently. Feeling the rush of power that he desperately craved, Penguin sneered and leaned back, “What was that Bi-Butch?

 

“Mister Penguin sir, I… I apologize for attempting to hurt you.”

 

Looking back to Zaz then back at B utch he breathed in,  and his sneered only deepened. Too long of just desserts coming. “What was that Butch? Did you say something? Perhaps you’d like to return to Zaz’s delicate attention to earn... ” He trawled out the last word, savoring its power on his tongue.  Penguin noticed and reveled in the very obvious wave, no waves, of terror that raced through the once proud now broken man. 

“No sir...please...no.”

 

He smirked at the docile Butch, others might see him charismatic and noble, but Penguin saw him as the nose second in command that kissed ass just to kiss the ass of Fish Fucking Mooney, may she rot in a cell or at the bottom of the fucking lake. The fuck anyone really like her was beyond his comprehension, both had ugly ass nails, and whatever her accent was was fucking fake as fuck. Ugh, his temper lately, he was just tense because of…

  
  


“She(Joan of Arc) put her dreams and her sentiment into her aims, where they ought to be; she put her practicality into her practice. In modern Imperial wars, the case is reversed. Our dreams, our aims are always, we insist, quite practical. It is our practice that is dreamy.”    
― G.K. Chesterton, All Things Considered   
  


 

Sitting in the precinct he fight off the twitch, other jeers from fucking Dougherty were getting a bitch much. He wasn't murdered, wasn't a criminal, he worked for the police department, didn't that make him a noble good g uy? Stupid question, and Nygma didn't ask stupid questions. Maybe he could find a urinal to do the dirty work, maybe he could strangle the Kringle sisters and chip up Doughtry into bits. Wait, what?

Well, maybe Penguin would help, maybe he was as dark a the fantasy of him was….

 

Nygma sat in his office, trying to ignore the whispers outside the door. Perhaps it was his imagination, that everyone was making fun of him. But it wasn't. He saw their faces, heard their tone.they thought he was weird, strange, to be ostracized. It burned in his veins. That he wasn't good enough, interesting enough, to capture their good will. He’s show them, he’d keep writing. If they didn't want him, then maybe things would be more interesting if he misbehaved like his companion….

 

While Ngma repeatedly told himself that seeking out Penguin so soon would put him in a bad desperate light it was only a few hours later, just after work, that he immediately went to the shower, dressed, and fingered some gel into his hair before walking out the door with a printed out GCPD map of Penguin’s traceable night club.

  
  


Nygma wandered through the doors to the club quite unsure of himself. He looked around,trying to analyze his surroundings as it it would make his unease at a new surrounding in a public place somehow more comfortable. He inwardly walked up to the nearest bar and signaled interest to the bartender. It was interesting, how she approached him then looked off stage left as if being signaled again. Hie felt frustrated and and self conscious, as if he was clearly not important and why the hell has he decided to come, but after a silent conversation over the back of his shoulder the girl seemed to return her attention to him, as if apologetic for some reason, and she stammered over herself to accommodate him ‘What can I get for ya sir, what do you need?” and  he stared ahead while feeling analyzed at his back.

 

He shrugged uncomfortably, and he was uncomfortable. Maybe it was his social anxiety, or his immediate need to imagine murdering everyone who met him with a ‘what are you doing here’ expression, but this was all off. The people here seemed seedy. He was fairly sure, which usually meant completely sure, but now felt more like not at all sure and go home now you idiot, that this was Oswald’s club. Sure he knew he wasn't the most...upstanding...but this seemed like a veiled den of… oh. There he was. 

 

Or rather, there his hand was. He saw the growingly familiar silhouette darken his peripheral on the barstool next to him, before a hand rested on his knee before regrettably listing a moment or several later. The adorably awkward voice shortly followed. “Glad to find you again, Edward.: Oswald murmured, voice still clipped and strange but heated from anticipation.

 

As Oswald lifted his hand away, he noticed the screwed captivating eyes immediately darted to his hand, there was a sad heated darkness that overcame that expression and Oswald bit his lip, returning his hand back to the knee of Edward. He stared at his eyes, raising an eyebrow hoping to question and pride that heat forward. 

  
  
  



	9. United in Common Interests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are very dark days indeed for this ship. It's such a bummer that the writers and producers didn't take a chance on this. Still though, there might always be a chance. Please keep giving me feedback! 
> 
> "Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable." jfk

Unfortunately the odds were not in their favor. Oswalds eyes darkened as a sneer and mask overcame his expression as his hand drew further back along with his entire demeanor as he distanced himself as much as he could without provoking an attack of opportunity. Nygma was confused, was he insulting the other man? He didn't realize until deja vu hit him as he realized that once again-

“Detective Gordon and Detective bullock, how can I help you? “ and he jumped before leaning down into his drink, curling away from the other man as he understood completely. Oswald was drawing attention away from Nygma still seated next to him the bar, a bit frozen in shock, conflicted.

Keeping his stammering to a minimum, he continued, latching onto an idea. “Are you here for a favor? You know how much I love helping out my friend Jim Gordon.” Penguin was happy, because this awkward display of desperation was sure to make both older men thrown off an uncomfortable, and they wouldn't recognize Nygma.

  
Nygma watched them go before throwing down a hefty tip and leaving the bar, wrapping his scarf around his face a few times. He needed to get home, out of here.

The next day, Nygma had a bad go of it.

Isabella and the other both were just being outright awful all day. They kept trying to embarrass him in public, reading off memo’s he written in elaborate and dramatic fashion. Turning in a observations on cases into elaborate love notes. Being the golden workers of the department, no one questioned the accuracy. If the cattle of the department believed it then fine, whatever. He merely stared, his expression darkening in moments as if something was trying to take over. For the moment, it wasn’t worth it. But that mantra confused Nygma on a conscious level. He felt he was fighting a battle of sanity but it wasn’t concerning. And that alone should probably be concerning.

But they did seem frustrated when their advances or pushes to make him anxious and affected were for naught. He wondered when they would move on to something more rewarding but for now, he was interesting it seemed. At least Oswald found him so, judging by the mysteriously anonymous but easily figured out presents delivered to his office every day or so. He began to catalog their interactions with others, and the general environments awareness of their well being. The girls were symmetrical and liked, but the Detective Tom Dougherty was a bit more anonymous. There were so many slimy, lazy, and arguably corrupt cops in the precinct, Nygma grew sure that this one would not be missed. Or his disappearance wouldn't be heavily debated, especially if there was evidence. Especially if there an an easily solved riddle. His mind neutrally shifted to the new ally who’d openly said would help him.

‘What if I wanted to kill someone?” He remembered saying, stupidly. And before he could draw or explain away the words he remembered seeing something like duty weigh down and steel the other man’s persona. To Nygma, the moment felt important, it could change everything. He wasn't sure what the right response was...but he heard the audible intake of breathe before Oswald carefully but threateningly asked, .

“Why? Did someone hurt you?”

He acted defensively, at first. Spouting a cliche riddle before clarifying that it was nothing but annoying coworkers. Damn Dougherty and the Kringles for this paranoia.

Nygma's cold eyes softened as he remebered Oswald openly promise, “If it’s nothing, or becomes something. I can help. You don’t have to...do anything..alone.”

Nygma was rather hot under the collar at the idea of this darker side of the awkward alleged crimelord. He thought he might be a bit obvious if the burning on his cheeks and throat betrayed him in a blush. Because he thought of this often when being called out by the terrible three, they thought they’d finally gotten to him.

He thought of that memory in the days since it happened, especially as things got worse.

 

Today, though. It was an awful day, the usuals mocking him saying he couldn't get them even if they wanted, couldn't get anyone. It was… it didn't get to him, but perhaps it did. So he stopped by the club again, he shouldn't have. But the echo of your ship will never sail boiled something cold in his veins. Things shifted somewhat, and he felt his eyebrows furrow and he took off his glasses, eyed the clock and set off for the club. Where he might find Oswald Cobblepot again.

There, though, Oswald was nowhere in sight. Spying a larger man he thought he knew, he walked up to him.

Butch eyed the slim man curiously. Remembering the man from observation and description, he nodded once before turning and waving once over his shoulder to follow. He didn’t warn him about, well, the particular meeting. He couldn’t kill or endanger Penguin, but putting someone close in harm’s way? Good grey area. Surely a boss of this flunkie wouldn’t suffer any secrets.

Led back to Oswald's office, Butch still seemed to try to look to deeply at Edward but poked his head through decorative doors at the far back of the dwelling. A muttering of “Hey boss..someone..” And more muttering, followed by the door swinging open to reveal a tense seeming Oswald with someone and Edward Nygma immediately shuts his eyes before he can see who the other person is.

He only had a minute to weigh his options, he figured he could explain it away as something if he was questioned, but perhaps a bit of don't see don't know would earn him favor.

He thought he heard a trio of different sorts of chuckles before the voice he was tuned in for uttered “If that is all, “ And Nygma strained his ears and began to feel rather unsure about the entire thing, footsteps began to sound nearing him, stilling, before a chuckle he thought he might know sounded, and the footsteps began again and quieted as they walked away down the hall back into any outfit.

“You can open your eyes friend.” He heard, and instantly blinked open, seeing only the man he’d come to find. His gaze narrowed, flooding with darkness as outside and internal conflicts barraged him, reminding him what he was here to claim and assure himself of. Not responding, Nygma merely walked over, nothing how Oswald stiffened anxiously and his eyes darted for a moment to the cutlery still left on the table.

Oswald stared, too brightly to be as aloof as he wished himself to be. He looked at Nygma who slowly and awkwardly sat down. It was all so interesting, this strange man. This other seemed distraught. Some concern pulled at his eyes and mouth.

“This is a surprise, Mister Nygma. But it is welcome. Jerome, a drink for my guest?” Oswald said, beckoning to a familiar ginger haired boy who walked briskly in the room, with a tray holding only a tall thin glass of liquor, a mint leaf as a garnish.

Nygma took it ask offered and sipped. The boy stilled, his smile dimming for a moment as he pointedly looked at Penguin. Realizing another pair of eyes was on him, he remembered and bid the boy off with, “thank you, Mister Jay.” The tone was slighter, more in jest than genuine, but the younger boy seemed pleased as he retreated off back through a door that seemed to open to a kitchen or barback, Nygma thought he heard the most interesting laugh before the door closed.

The drink though. It was interesting, hard to figure out the specific flavors. His mind relaxed as it set into the puzzle of identifying the flavors. He blinked at the wall ahead unknowingly. Before turning back to Oswald in suspicion. The hopeful smile meant Oswald had hoped the confusing mixture would please him. He smiled, widely as a proud prey caught in a fine trap.

“Well done Mister Cobblepot.”

 


	10. Alexander and the Gordian Knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days are dark, I say again. The writers are missing such a chance, and like i said before, I'd like to hope in denial a while longer. there is such a chance for these two. So we go into the winter break together, my friends. Be excellent to each other. My area in real life is in rough times, america can be a scary place to be, I hope everyone can be safe. And moreso, I hope everyone can be kind.

“Well done Mister Cobblepot.”

 

Penguin's eyes widened at the the compliment. He was hopeful, perhaps almost desperately so, that Edward would appreciate the drink for its layered tastes, hoping he’d think it a bit of a riddle. As Nygma held his gaze, Penguin grew anxious he was meant to respond now. To say something bold, he owned this club, led men, but he was still a bi struck by the man before him. He seemed to be an important thing. Oswald opened and closed his mouth, trying to get a sound out but, his brain shut everything down in an attempt not to blurt out some dangerous confession. He looked down at the smaller sized meeting table that separated them.

 

A moment passed in the night between the two men, the air was warm and dry, heated by a fireplace on the eastern wall. It was a nice rom, a solid office that was designed for the owner or person in charge. At the moment, that personn was Oswald Cobblepot. He could really do with some of that strengthening presence the room imagined it's user would have. However, he was a bit out of sorts. Nygma felt emboldened by Oswald’s nervousness. He let a darker smirk tug at his lips as he lifted the light mask in his eyes to show a bit more daring darkness. This he could use, to gain more insight on this man. “Tell me a story,” he sad, “who is Oswald Cobblepot?

 

Penguin met his eyes before snapping his attention away as a light blush threatened his cheek and nose. Nygma lightened a bit in his amusement. Penguin looked again to where Jerome stood in the shadows by the bar. Signaling him with three fingers, Jerome shortly brought over two small shot glasses filled with an amber, heavy liquid.

 

Edard watched the young ginger man come and go, it was strange indeed. The boy seemed utterly chaotic with more than a dash of malovelent.. But now he seemed more content to play a part. The scientist in him refused to brush him off, even for the moment, but somehow Edward was sated in his instincts tht  the boy was an ally, at least for the present. The other man in the room, was a bit more clear to read. Or at least, Nygma reveled in what he was observing at face value so far. This man in power was off his game, perhaps flirting was the way to go. Nygma muttered across the table, lowly. “Wouldn’t want you to be thirsty..”

 

Penguin snapped out of the lure Nygma drew him easily into, conflicted by the heat of a possible innuendo and also, a memory…

  
  


“You don't eat. What's the matter, Liebchen? You are sick. So pale you look. Tell Mama what's wrong. You don't have to tell. I know. Life is hard when you are special. And you are so special. So clever. So handsome. When you are older, with a stick you'll beat away the women. But only if you eat so you can grow big... and strong.”

  


Penguin’s eye twitched, wondering how she would have felt about his… inclinations. Taking the first  glass Jerome had left between them and handing it across the table to Nymga, he took the second for himself and raised it towards his companion. Meeting the other without spilling a drop, they both emptied their own glass in a mouthful or two.  Shuddering a bit, Penguin steeled himself to start near the beginning. It was what led to all of this, after all...

 

“I..I wasn't sure how long I was in the trunk for.I knew.. I knew what was going to happen but I was just in shock that I was in a trunk waiting to be killed, I ve seen it from the sidelines, but being there was quite… awful. All things considered…” He took a moment to stare off in the middle distance, wondering if the eye of fate watched him so closely, wondered where the concept even came from. He shook it off, and immediately forgot it as he continued his narrative.

 

“After my mistake with Fish Mooney, seeing Gordon was such a stroke of luck. He would be too good to kill me, hopefully. Trying to reason to him I forgot about his partner, Bullock. Brute he is, he immediately punched me. Still bound helpless in the trunk, it hurt. Bad.” Taking another mouthful of his drink, it was nearly gone again, he continued while noting that Edward was matching him in consumption.

 

“I reeled from the pain, but I could hear Bullock talking in a concerning and familiar tone of voice to James Gordon. How i’d talked to the cops on the...more sensitive business matters I attended to while working for Fish Mooney and Falcone. Gordon looked conflicted, while I was confused. Wouldn’t that work in my favor with this incorruptible cop of Gotham? I was still mad at myself, i shouldn’t have broken my promises of silence. It was a moment of weakness friend. I was captive, I needed allies before then, and even more so, in that moment. I looked to Gordon hoping he'd realize the opportunity for an alliance when Bullock pressed how I worked with the police, his tone of voice and obvious nature meant that I was wrong, the Detective was just as touchable as the rest of us... Gordon is a key player, it's obvious.” The smartly dressed but anxious Cobblepot trailed off again, Edward noting how the other man’s eyebrow creased quite...it made him feel something close to affection. Tilting his head to the side, he was grateful that Oswald continued, breaking him out of confusing fairy tale notions. Absurd, really.

 

“Bullock openly declared he was under Falcone's thumb, and that Gordon needed to make a call. No a tough call, to be exact. Gordon seemed to agree, he grabbed me out of the trunk and pushed me along the wooden pier.” Oswald stopped, feeling his mouth dry from the tale he was telling, and feeling. He was pleased to see Nygma leaning over, obviously interested as he rested on his forearms with his chin resting on his knuckles, eyes raising up briefly to acknowledge Jerome had returned to the table with an open bottle of the amber drink they'd been partaking in. Jerome grinned widely as he poured them all another round.

 

Authors Note: 

My friends, my friends forgive me... Adding on a real life note. Showed this story to a girl I liked, and she scoffed it off. Perhaps...this isn't working, maybe I'm just a rubbish storyteller. *sigh* Just wanted to give something back to the community because I know what it's like to crave more of something. My obsession with Merthur really... The world is so dark, so dismissive... I just wish there were more like us, ya know?


	11. Things That Don't Make Sense and Thoughts That Might

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking the slow path, our three villains are having a friendly chat. 
> 
> Drop me a line on your thought about the cliffhanger from the most recent episode! Or ideas on where I could take this from here, open to suggestions! Have a most excellent night!

“A life spent at the edge of the pier is a life full of regret, a life full of fear.”  
― Ryan Lilly

The shorter but smartly dressed man shuddered at what might have been in a different Earth. He has much to be thankful for, and a kingdom to form. But for now, he was lost in his story. “It seemed like the end for me, a brush with the eye of fate.. The idea of it all ending before it even began.. I felt a lifetime of bitterness that I..” His eyes gained a bit of strength as he almost revealed too much, but continued rather stiffly, "That I..I would die shot at the end of that wooden dock…”

To Edward, that image and possibility made his skin itch in a strange way. He assumed it was the complex nature of politics underlying the underground mob boss and he knew he would enjoy being a part of it, figuring out how it worked. He leaned forward in anticipation, he should just be thirsty for this adrenaline rush but instead felt drawn to the smaller man in a way he wasn’t usually drawn to someone. Nygma narrowed his eyes and tried to steel himself in this new situation. He forced his adaptation, his understanding of how things would turn out to be.

Looking to the ginger haired boy, Jay-, No, Jerome, he thought he heard, Jerome seemed captivated by the heat of the moment. That boy was strange, but held the atmosphere of an observer or, as if he was above or detached from it somehow. Realizing he was being watched, the younger man leaned back and grinned openly, a faint low but manic chuckle breaking the silence for a few moments. The air around them warmed from the hearth on the wall.

For Nygma this was just another experiment in being social. He rarely made the go, but lately when he chanced on going out it had turned out very interestingly. Oswald was certainly interesting, one the mob put a hit on someone, especially carried out by dirty cops, it probably only went one way, usually.

Clearly something else happened, Detective Gordon didn’t shoot Oswald that day. No, he became a rather adorably fierce mob lord taking offered drinks by his new… friend? Ward? Henchman? That being the rather insanely-looking ginger named Jerome. Nygma tilted his head curious, he heard the official line before, where Cobblepot was shot in some business matter gone awry. He’d gleaned as much from muttered phrases between various detectives. But this was interesting, something new, like realizing two sections of something were instead part of something much more complex. It was too delicious, this new riddle. Information was being shared in an efficient enough consistency for the moment, and he was content. Nymga stared openly and warmly at Oswald, who’d been focused on the glass in his own hand for a few quiet moments.

Lost in his thoughts, Oswald took another drink quickly before setting it down and staring at it intensely. After a beat he reached for the glass to move it over, and stared at it again while biting his lip. Huffing out some unknown frustration, he muttered out something too quickly and low for either of the other two present to understand. Nygma broke his observation to look over to catch the eye of Jerome, both raised their eyebrows in mutual confusion and not at all assurance, before looking back to Oswald, Nygma cleared his throat as he lifted his own glass for another slow drink.

Oswald huffed once more before the noise and procuring silence dawned on him. He finally looked up, jumping a bit as if remembered that he wasn’t alone with his own glass of spirits. He had a strange feeling, as if waiting for someone, someone to bring a bottle of wine, and another damned riddle.

 _No... that wasn’t right. It was something I needed to say,_ he was supposed to be telling a story, to..someone… Perhaps he was just thinking of that day. Oswald stammered before he continued where he left off. When he was about to take a short walk off a long pier.

“I found my feet on the last few inches of the pier overlooking Gotham Harbor. Detective Gordon pushed me against the edge and I almost lost my footing and went into the water. I panicked, understandable I hope… And I won’t deny that I then begged...” His voice rose higher as he relieved the memory “I begged, ‘let me live let me live..’ over and over, swearing a debt, swearing I could help the GCPD… I told them there was a war coming.. I took a chance and said that Falcone was losing his grip.. I told him, ‘there will be chaos, I know..I can see it coming… I'm clever that way.’ I went on, saying that I could spy for him as I had the Don, I could be useful. But he just yelled to shut up and turn around; I wasn't sure if there was anything during when or after I begged for my life, but somehow, strangely I heard him speak as Gordon lowly said, ‘don't ever come back to Gotham.’ and fired the gun. The ringing followed by the cold was all i knew…” he finished his drink and gestured to Jerome to pour him another, Jerome leaned in, interjecting. “So.. We’re you shot?” Penguin shrugged once and shook his head in denial. “I lived, he didn't shoot me but… It went dark shortly after.”

Nygma reached his hand over the table to rest on Cobblepot’s, “I’m so sorry. That must have been truly terrible.”

Penguin turned his hand up to grasp at Nygma’s and held it for a moment before assuring him, “There is no need to apologize Ed, you didn’t shoot me on that pier” the moment slowed, as they both fought off a wave of something cold and unwelcome, before Edward squeezed his hand back, chuckling in a manner much calmer but a little more forced than Jerome tended to be.

“Of course not, friend.”

Still though, it was clearly a shortened version, and Nygma wondered what even Penguin left out. He didn't go into detail about the criminals he worked with, Nygma wondered if Oswald thought it was safer for him not to know.

Edward rose to his feet and gestured for Oswald to join him as he walked towards a sofa facing a lit fireplace. Jerome seemed content to sit at the table and finish his drink, facing away from the fireplace and couch. Nygma sat in what he hoped looked like a normal relaxed but still dignified pose and took another mouthful of the drink he’d been nursing, waiting for Oswald to sit down next to him. Penguin seemed very tense as he obeyed the gesture without really thinking, staring straight ahead into the fire, still lost in those days that changed everything.

Nygma watched him curiously as he watched the other man sit down, fitting pieces together and switching around things that didn't make sense and thoughts that might.


	12. I Will See It Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So begins a two or three part story-line, something is brewing at Oswald's.   
> Welcome back friends, drinks are on Zaz.

Oswald joined Edward on the couch, waving off one of his armed men at the door. He had a few minutes, he demanded that much from the world. He didn’t look at Edward until he was settled, 

Without the challenge to meet the eyes of someone who might see his weakness as an opportunity, he was left with the self conscious and entirely deniable notion of being self conscious.

But he sat, adjusted his suit, and started towards the flame. The noise of the club outside the doors grew as the night went on, it was like an alarm that drew him from comfortable if not promising company. He liked to think he lorded over a small army, but truthfully, his presence and assurance was necessary to survival. Oswald stood up regretfully. “Unfortunately, I must make an appearance at the front of the house. There are many twitchy clients, best to keep everyone in line.” The edges of his mouth twitched, for once the idea of maintaining his power not the moment’s heart’s desire.

Edward furrowed his eyebrows, but then nodded and stood up, finishing his glass. Jerome merely picked his up, drank the rest, and poured another three fingers of very expensive something. He gestured to the door, “after you then boss.”

Oswald looked to him, confused, then to edward, who seemed contemplative before nodding.   
They walked out down a short hallway back towards the front of the bar, past a few tables, and into a roped off area with plush red velvet wall decor. Besides the bar that took up the whole right-side wall and half of the back, there were about a dozen and a half plush armchairs casually circled around a half dozen tables. . Oswald sat with his back against the far back wall, so that he could see the main floor bar through the doorway, and the bar entrance proper on the far wall.

Edward sat in the overstuffed chair next to him. He noted, that the other’s attention was too casually centered on something in the middle of the main floor. He saw who had been missing from their previous party.

There was Jerome, apparently waylaid by an olive-skinned older male. The man had a grip on Jerome’s wrist, and if it had been anyone else, Edward would have been concerned with the situation. It wasn’t as if Edward cared for the young man, it was just interesting. Jerome was, it seemed, now one of Oswald’s charges. For what Edward knew, and what he had known of Oswald, Jerome was under his companion’s protection. In his territory and within eyeline of Oswald, within an arsenal of armed guards... there wasn’t a safer situation to be in. after a moment of observing the ginger male, It made sense that Jerome wasn’t concerned by such an aggressive move.

Oswald had seen a bit of the circus, while it was still open. He thought the man looked a bit familiar, Oswald figured that plus Jerome’s familiarity meant he must be from there. This wasn’t good, Gordon and the GCPD were watching the circus carefully, still searching for Jerome. Oswald hopped to keep him in the background until the circus passed on. Jerome hadn’t argued and he hoped there wasn't something he was hiding but...

Perhaps it was one of the animal attendants, it could be an old paramour. He had no idea of the younger man's inclinations. But he had a hand on Jerome and in his house, that just would not do. His more perceptive of guards near the front of the bar picked up on his tension, at a nod closed in on the situation with a practiced calm nature that would not induce any concern or panic from the nearby patrons.

Jerome began to laugh lowly, his eyes downcast at the hand on his arm. Something was bubbling inside of him that steamed out of his eyes to meet dark but slowly apprehensive eyes of the man, Mikel, who dared this.

Jerome had gambled, and so far had won. He would have his revenge against the people who hurt him, against them all. It would be so amazingly hilarious, the set up, the gag, all of it. But this man was trying to rush to the punchline, this idiot monster. He hurt those who couldn't understand the pain, the joke. For Mikel, the idea of glory through fighting the circus animals and stray dogs against each other for money was enough. That wouldn't do. He had so many delicious and promising ideas of how to play this man, but...he wouldn’t get that chance now. It was too public, and he was a bit let down as Mikel released his grip and was accosted out by the armed and insistent guards. By Mr. Cobblepot’s men.

Well, now there’s an idea.

He turned to follow the path of the en towards the back velvet room, nodding to Oswald only, a slow devious grin taking over his face. He stared into Mr Cobblepot’s eyes, letting some of his darkness through. He meant it as a promise. He quietly went to the bar behind them and retrieved them all another round before sitting down in a heap, curling his legs up to sit cross legged, he leaned forward, chuckling. Edward found himself joining in, chasing down much of his drink. Oswald watched that man’s adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed his drink. Something stirred in him, he shifted awkwardly for a few moments as he tried to adjust himself discreetly. Luckily he was gifted with an hour or so of inactivity before updates on his enterprise became more numerous.

As Oswald dealt with numerous attendants updating him on things in the club and elsewhere, Edward found himself watching those at the bar. Partway through the night, a detective Nygma would recognize anywhere and usually because he arrogantly made himself know, Detective Dhority entered the bar with some tired older scantily clad woman on his arm. Neither Kringle girl though, interesting. He watched them, the rest of the room and his relaxed state tensed into thoughts of malice and murder. It was entirely too public, he knew. This was Oswald's business, but still. It was almost like Dhority was taunting him, that he was powerless.

 

Finally, he had a moment to sit back and appreciate the quality bourbon he;d been drinking the past few hours. Oswald leaned up against Edward as best he could from two arm chairs tightly next to each other. the taller man was seemed much too tense. “Is there anything i can get you Ed?” Blame it on the ever full glass of not-watered-down-enough bourbon glass in his hand or the environment of sitting in the elite spot in a domain he owned, regardless of the thumbs he was under. But..he had such overwhelming Deja Vu, that threw him back to a night at the circus.

“What about someone?” Oswald said, lowly as he turned back to whisper the question against Oswald's open lips. He leaned forward, capturing the pout in a biting punishment. Uncaring of the world around them, but trying to regain a bit of anything, Oswald drew his side arm pistol and aimed it openly toward the opening to the club proper. He deepened the kiss, the taste of Edward's mouth seizing his attention utterly, and lowered the gun a fraction of an inch. His litany of guards formed a wall between them and the club. not of secrecy, but one a bit of safety. for now at least, and that was all either could ask.

 

Fortunately, neither expected such a thing to last.


	13. I've Got You Worried, Now I Have. That Shows You Like Me Quite Alot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello internet. I hope the day finds you content. Things are tragic on my end. My previously hetrosexual best friend of ten years has come out as bisexual/possibly queer. The only issue being that I have been out as a lesbian for years, and have been very open about how if only she liked girls then I would be hers forever. And she doesn't seem to understand why I am not happy for her new budding relationship with a new girl.
> 
> I'm so depressed and hurt. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you like the chapter. Welcome any tips or ways to thread it back into cannon!
> 
>  
> 
> Ive run into the end of the nygmobblepot fanfic here, and feel obligated to keep the faith going. Getting bit bitter at this point, wanna bet the writers before season 4 were like..should we consider this ship? The interwebs seemed into it..

  
It could have been a terrible mistake, to assume the malevolent intent behind Edward’s look and tone. But the warm lips that returned his kiss instantly rewarded his risk. Feeling emboldened, Penguin breathes into Nygma's mouth, “If you ask for this, it will be given Edward. Just give me a name..or face.”

Edward drew back slightly, shaking his head into the neck of Oswald and murmured, “Later, together...alone.” After considering the idea, he knew there was an easier less costly way, and privacy would allow him to explore some options as well. And that was all it took, Edward didn't look but felt the tension relax in the arm that was stretching to hold the firearm fade. After another beat, Oswald twisted that hand as he waved off the guard curtain of privacy. Half the armed men and women stayed close, still waiting any perceived threat or at least guest of interest.

The thinner brunet leaned back into his own seat, not willing to lose contact he reaches over to briskly push away a strand of persistent hair that always seemed to cover an eye of Oswald, Edward tilted his head to the side to look at Penguin from this angle

The darker part of Edward was content to muse over the possibilities and promise of having the opportunity at that detective at his mercy in the future and Edward found himself eager to fall into a more carefree content tone, not having many cares in the moment. Another idea came to mind, and he decided to murmur, “May I?” He stayed turned towards Oswald, but his eyes began to dart around the other man, sizing up free room in his armchair. Oswald couldn’t think past the promise and threat warning in Edward's eyes, and he found himself nodding along, a blank check to whatever Edward had in mind. Even the dozen guards in the room faded away as Edward took the cue, stood up, and moved to actually sit down, climbing into Oswald's lap. He began to search out a pulse point, raising his head to meet the guard directly at his back, he meet the disturbed eyes of Butch. He then sought out a pressure point on Oswald’s neck before biting down, smug that Butch would hear Oswald's reaction before he repeated his question, “May I?”

Penguin startled and groaned nosily much to the not quiet enough chuckles or disgusted coughs (whom he made a small note somewhere in his head to promptly cop off an important limb of) before the words processed. He seemed to take a few moments to realize he’d been asked something. May? “If you...must.”

Edward seized on the permission, “if I hadn’t closed my eyes… would I have recognized him?”

Penguin tried to steel himself, to respond powerfully, but Nygma anticipated this and bit down again “low cost, high reward..”

Penguins resolve melted a bit, it was awfully hot this close to the fire, just the fire, he tried to tell himself. But he wasn’t nearly convinced as he nearly moaned out, “N-yes..yes”

‘“What you two were discussing...was it terribly...wrong?”

Oswald clenched his jaw, steeling his resolve, but... He gave the slightest of nods.

Edward was nearly delirious.This s promise of a satisfaction was a new outlet for him.Would it be awful just for more of a taste, it was too much, he needed more. “What would happen to me if I knew?”

And whatever Nygma was expecting, it wasn’t for Oswald to growl out, “Nothing, nothing will happen to you.” and go rigid before grabbing his hips and grinding just slightly upward.

He was almost overcome by the darkened expression that shuttered over the other man’s eyes. As if the universe heard him, he heart the distinct volume of an escalating situation at the other end of his bar. Selfishly, he pushed it away for just a few more minutes but eventually both men were distracted from their gradually exhibitionist behavior as voices began to raise at the door.

He caught the familiar tone of one of Falcone’s men and knew that unfortunately, this matter should not wait. He sighed as his body regretfully drew back, Edward leaning back only to look at Edward a few moments and the comprehend the noises behind him. He stood, a blush on his cheeks, anxiously fixing his suit he began to dismiss himself. They both knew it would be best if he remained distant from any focus, and anything could get messy this late and with that family.

Oswald looked to Jerome, unaware the brunet was still holding Edward's hand. “Get him home, Mr. Jay.” And the ginger nodded before laughing, “Time to go Mr Nygma, before the party really starts.”

Things were going well for Jerome, he had much to smile about. He was free of his monstrous mother, free from hearing her. Chaos as he desired, the options were enchanting. The ginger haired boy quickly finished his drink, and walked over to a wet bar on the way out. Finding an ice pick he walked for the door, out into the club and night. He knew Edward was smart enough to follow, but not for too long, and not too closely. Jerome knew to guide pleasure away from business, but he was rather intent on some sort of chaos and figured boss would be distracted for awhile he heads out, to do things one might say he shouldn't. 

Back in the club, Edward was beginning to follow but found himself frozen in a moment. His eyebrows furrowed in regret, looking at Oswald. Wanting impossibly to help out, or at least give a proper goodbye.

Unfortunately Oswald was walked towards the commotion at the front, subtly grabbing knives and a pistol from guards as he passed them. He spared a costly glance over his shoulder, giving a nod and a bit something too openly on his face, but it felt worth it because he knew Edward saw. Edward who nodded once before taking a few quick strides after Jerome through the bar doors a the back. Edward followed Jerome into the night, but not too closely, and not for too long.

 


	14. The Demon's Head Dip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For fear of the newspapers politicians are dull, and at last they are too dull even for the newspapers.  
> G.K. Chesterton, All Things Considered

The night passed mysteriously.

 

Edward woke that next morning and prepared himself for the day, making himself breakfast and sitting down at his small kitchen table. He had yesterday's paper splayed out and was idly scanning a page to his right. He read over the title, going from disinterest to disgust. The page on top wasn’t the headline, it was some lower section, the story line of a dog-fighting ring by the docks, some carnival worker with family ties to the area had gotten off on evidence misconduct, the dismissal from an assistant district attorney with the same surname as the suspect. He fingered the paper and drew it up. His eyebrows furrowed as he read the notes, The man was familiar, Edward recognized him from the confrontation with Jerome.

The incompetence of Gotham’s finest shines once more. Balling up the page in anger, he stuffed his fist in his pocked and absently left that crumpled page there as he set out for work, and time passed as he distractedly ticked off items on his to do list for the day.

Then it was lunchtime and he found himself eating a sandwich on the stone pillars at the front of the GCPD. He noticed that the loitering police outside thinned, before only two remained that steadfast looked in the opposite of his direction. That was a bit strange, and curiously yet a limousine pulled up at the front before the driver stepped out to open the back right passenger door to... Of course, Edward mused, Oswald. It must be important, Edward continued to think, to clear out bystanders. The air was warmer, for the season, and the light wind that blew through set a content tone that battled the tension.

Oswald looked tightly to the hearth to the GCPD and steely marched forward, turning abruptly. Instead of going into the precinct, Oswald turned and strode to him instead, an intensely held brown bag in h, slowly blinking as he tried to figure out what it could possibly be. As Oswald drew closer, he found his eyes darting back and forth between Oswald's profile and the item in his hand. What could it possible be?

And then Oswald was directly in front of Edward, and it clicked into place for the latter that he himself may just be the reason for this visit from The Penguin.

Oswald’s confidence was waning, and he lifted the brown band he held tightly in his hand further out, embarrassingly so in his mind.

 

“Friend, I...I brought this for you.”

 

Holding out the bag which held some sort of aluminum box, Edward peeked inside to see and then pull out a small bag of tortilla chips and then some sort of spinach dip with cheese. Oswald shrugged and said that Olga told him everyone love cheese and lapsed into a terrible impression of his maid. “Even if guessing, even if full, cheese dip always good." Then his voice broke a bit, in his nervousness and he pushed on, "I helped make it, of course...and I brought it and cleared out the precinct which was actually quite expensive, not that that matters obviously. Not that I am implying that we..That I...ah...So, is the dip acceptable?”

 Edward stared incredulously, not wanting to interrupt or appear unwelcome, he just was not sure how to react in this situation. He had no practice, and Gotham Was strange but not many got public visits at a police headquarters from a known criminal boss.  Edward found his eyes widening as he felt the weight of the portion, meant for a half dozen at least. His eyes darted back to meet Oswald's as the other man nervously chuckled. “Well Ogla is likely used to feeling a brood, she gets excited at a task. And she knows.. I mean, she likes you, I guess. Anyway, like it. Please….Here.”

Edward took the food up, eating but content to stare out at the people who passed, his attention diverting to figure out each possible clue of some secret certain people could be hiding. His hand retreated into his pocked to curl into a fist and found the paper he'd left earler that morning. Hte man at his side shifted on a tense leg and Edward idly thought of the power at his side. Not wanting to be too direct or stepping over bounderies (though, he rationalized that the Penguin did offer...) He feigned reading over it as his hands slowly tense out the edges. Pehaps he scrathed the newpaper down into the stone more than necessary, but it may work in drawing the other's attention.

Seeing the family name over Nygma’s shoulder Oswald barked a low laugh. “That's one of the more powerful families,  ‘Vickk’, not much money because it's all ties up on the district attorney's office. Payed off here though..." trailing off before he stilled, feeling Nygma tense beneath his chin. Judging by the short breath and jolt, It seemed the other man didn't notice as he moved to his back. Interesting, and too arousing to ignore. Oswald let his fingers trace up Edward's upper arms to rest on his shoulders leaning his head ever so slightly into Edward neck.

“Are you okay?..Is this because he caused trouble at the club or what he did? I didn't know you were an animal lover Edward.” Oswald was a bit pleased though, he had learned something new about Edward, he could use this. Edward took a few moments to try to wipe his vivid imagination of what must have occurred as he sat still. Eventually he murmured to respond.

Edward's eyes darkened, “Dogs aren't a puzzle. They just are. The puzzle is more why. I detest those who fail, I despise those who cheat to play. This man's seems a more unacceptable type of awful.” Oswald felt the sure sense of otherness, as something flickered in acknowledgement before being masked away. But Oswald wouldn't let it go, and he didn't have to push, yet, as Edward continued. Nygma pauses for a moment, as his voice seemed to drop an octave before continuing, “I'd like to kill him, to have him dead.” His shoulders roll back, and Oswald drops his hands feeling as if Edward is trying to shake him off. Had he crossed boundaries, misread things? But Edward's hand caught Oswald retracting fingers and grabbed them, interlacing his fingers and returning them to his shoulders but closer to his neck. He held his hands curled upward into Oswald's, holding him there, dimly aware that Oswald now held the balled up newspaper clipping in his fist.

Penguin stilled back, trying to input that into each new equation that met his reality, something heavy and warm threatened his senses but he still tried to keep a semblance of drive. There's something here to be gained, his strategist instincts quietly steadened. He already knew what he was going to do. There was just the present to deal with until that opportunity arose later.

Oswald traced his fingertips over the back of Edward's hand, pleased by the tensing of his fingers in the e paper.  Edwards skin felt soft but the size of Edward's hand made Oswald wish for a bit more privacy. The promise of what could be spurned the challenge and passion that got Oswald this far, and he yearned to see his acquired power and skills yield such an intriguing type of reward. Oswald never considered it before, but he found himself promising, “I will have him at your mercy.” And he drew himself down, trying to meet Edward gaze and when the other man turned to meet him, they were brushing noses. Edward's eyes darted down to Oswald's lips before coming back up to meet his eyes.

Oswald felt bolstered by what he saw in Edward's eyes and continued.  “I confess friend, I look forward to seeing you in your element. It is an interesting riddle, if I are say..I think I will handle the first move, it seems to be one solution obtained by two goals.” Edward didn't understand this, Oswald knew to be deliberately vague to fight off the mind figuring it out, (possibly minds, not that Oswald could know that yet). Focus and tight malice tugging at Oswald’s expression as he shuffled from foot to foot before lifting an arm to grab Edward bicep. Ad Oswald's fingers curled, Edward’s breath caught in his throat as the other man said. “Have a good day Edward, I hope it finds you well pleased.”

  
  
  


The rest of the workday passed in a blur, he tried contacting Oswald, but it only went to voicemail. He hadn’t tried more than once, and found himself going to bed rather tense. Feeling a sense of anticipation but no rational source for it, he fell asleep with the suspicion (or realization?) that he more likely hallucinated the entire event. There was the matter of the missing newspaper clipping though, it was lacking from his pocket.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should we talk about how the show is going IRL? It's rather interesting but it seems the writers are lining up the sharks to jump with Bruce. By this time the writers have had enough time to react to the fan reaction of Nygmobblepot. It seems they are working towards something, its just impossible to figure out what. Leave your predictions in the comment section below! 
> 
> Anyone else creeped out by the mobboss' daughter? Why can Oswald not see through the same plan Fish tried?!
> 
> Anyway, hope you like my take on how our world would handle a criminal procedural. <3

A puzzling case captured his attention for the next few days. A john doe was found at the base of a building. At first glance he seemed to have fresh strangulation marks that wouldn't have appeared in that pattern from just a fall. But after he’d gotten a closer look, he found out what had been kept hidden. The body’s adrenal gland had been removed in a novice but technical method. 

 

The issue being it wasn’t on his own case list and he was reprimanded rather severely for it. Possibly his unapologetic cursing out of the other medical examiner in barely hushed tones just outside of the captain’s door. That may have also played a part. 

 

After a day or so of apologies through a barely concealed clenched jaw to the other ME and the Captain, Edward had a bit of revenge planting body parts in the working space of his rival. He was fairly certain the obvious narcoleptic necro-natured antics, no matter the lacking motive, would be silenced and turned out before the press caught wind. Edward learned only snippets of the interesting case that resulted from that one John Doe, and also why Edward had been so mysteriously silent the past few days. Edward was distracted by his own scheming, but in the back of his mind he wondered if the other man had befallen some fate from one of the mob bosses in Gotham, or had just forgotten about him entirely. The fate of that case was lost to Edward for some time, as it did not become relevant until it was almost obsolete by emergency.

  
  


In the present though, on his first day back, he found himself swamped by the caseload. With the other medical examiner still under investigation, he had a lot to go through. Even though the cases were mostly simple, it was still a consuming volume to go through. Several hours into the morning, the sound of the door being roughly thrown open startled him, his glasses slipped down a few inches as he jumped in his chair. He met the eyes of a n amused but grim and familiar duo of detectives, Bullock and Gordon. 

 

“Body found at the docks, you are coming with.”  

 

Nygma thought it curious that Gordon kept glancing to his partner who spoke, as if curious why Nygma was being invited along to a crime scene. That was unusual for non serial incidences. Edward rose while nodding, there was something interesting in play here.This riddle has his name on it, he decided and followed them out. He sat in the back and mused the ways he could escape, asking subtle questions about how the mechanisms in the back and on the locks worked to keep someone inside. Moving onto the normal upkeep and repairs and even shortcomings of the budget of the Gotham city auto repair shop he settled back, letting his mind plan and stow possible means of escape in case things ever went haywire. He realized mused that already having such thoughts may be proof alone of their investment.

 

And then they arrived, at the docks.  _ Would it always be at the docks?  _

 

Edward walked behind the detectives to where the body would be. 

 

Gordon was handed the victim’s wallet, Edward’s eyes narrowed jealousy as a clue being given to someone other than he. Though it was hard to place the face as it was cut up. he was pleased to recognize the name before the pair of detectives did. Michael Vickk, from the east end of Gotham. Then the weight of the name and the implications clocked. The surrounding crime scene activity dulled in his ears along with his other senses as he thought. His eyes blinked a few times as he stared down at the mess of the body, It was too much to be a coincidence.. Gordon handed the wallet to Bullock, who scanned it before handing it back to the CSI.

 

Looking at the body as Edward thought, he realized something else about the body. The heart, or where it should be, was a ghastly mess of chest cavity. The mouth was carved out, in a ghastly smile. A CSI used tweezers to remove a folded up badly stained envelope. Looking to Detective Gordon who grimaced before nodding, the CSI careful unfolded then opened the envelope and read over the note within. Her eyebrow arched before looking down to the ID in the wallet. Looking back and forth consideringly, she held out the note to the detectives. Detective Gordon's face tightened up again before he clearly clenched his jaw and took an offered plastic glove from Nygma who was still staring wide eyed but a bit smugly (that was strange, Gordon thought) and he he gingerly grabbed the note Its header read  **Gotham Animal Shelter** , and the body of the note was a standard thank-you note for a sizable donation in the name on the victim’s id, Michael Vickk.

 

Edward furrowed his eyebrows in contemplation. Could it be really possible that oswald has taken his own personal offenses to the level of importance as to putting his own men on the situation? Edward thought on what Oswald has mentioned about that family, a moderately powerful one in gotham. But still, Oswald took a risk, and he would not do something risky without a motive, there was meaning to this. 

 

Edward felt a theum if power course through his veins. It was not nothing, he knew, that the hdad a power like this at his whims. It meant something. Even his darker sight that he dared not acknowledge turned in pleasure at this notion. It was not nothing. 

 

Edward looked over the document a few times, it looks valid. Not that he had any reason to suspect otherwise, at this rate. Suddenly, Nygma felt his phone vibrate with an alert. Grabbing it out he looked at the new message.   
  


_ “Sorry i couldn't chat this morning, Directed Jerome to take out the trash.” _

 

A couple of moments later his phone chimed again, with merely “ _:) ?_ ”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Banner: Last time we saw you, you were trying to kill everyone. What are you up to these days?  
> Loki: It varies from moment to moment.
> 
> Just got back from Ragnarok, don't worry:no spoilers. Next sentence is my vague opinion, skip if ya want to stay pure of heart. It was rather strange, but the youtubers outlook on it makes me see it in a better light and ohh man its hilarious.
> 
>  
> 
> As far as canon nygmobblepot. Well, Im dragging out each episode because honestly seeing falcone's daughter play penguin like a fiddle is such a bummer. And I love Penguin's look. Just want them to be bff's again. :(
> 
> Seeing Loki gets my Frostiron going, comment for a colab. Also let me know what you thought of Thor Ragnarok in the comments below... Spoilers should be marked though!

A short distance away, Detective Gordon looked on at Edward Nygma. His eyes narrowed consideringly, looking back to the body when it seemed his target felt he was being observed.

  
  


Time wound forward, and as Edward found himself leaving work for the day, he was greeted by a towncar and a driver who gestured gestured him over. When he was close enough, a bald man spoke, “Mister Nygma?” 

 

Edward slowly nodded and after a moment, the driver nodded in return saying, “Oswald Cobblepot is requesting your presence for dinner if you are not otherwise occupied.” Lifting an eyebrow while creasing his eyes in anxiety, Ngma looked on as the driver beckoned him over to the back left side and opened the door. Insanely curious, Edward followed and entered the car. 

 

The commute was silent after that moment, and Edward found the door to his side being opened again by the driver as they reached their destination at Cobblepot manor. The housemaid, Olga, greeted him at the door. Edward narrowed his eyebrows as Olga looked him over and snorted before opening the door fully so that he could enter. She led him to a chamber down the hall, one already laid out with various meats and cheese. Though, he mused to himself, anything looked promising as he hadn’t eaten since lunch over five hours previously.

 

Above the feast, the figure at the head of the table was a most interesting sight. The narrow eyes in Edward’s skull were still trying to figure out the obvious puzzle ahead who stared back just as intently. What an interesting thing, this Penguin. The subject seemed a bit smug as things had gone off without a hitch, still it would be best to not lose focus of what could be and what could go wrong. 

 

“I understand there is likely somewhere else we both should be..” Edward began but trailed off.

 

Oswald took the moment to try to seize back an upper hand “And yet?” he pushed, gesturing at the only other seat at the table.. 

 

Edward almost growled at the interjection or impatience to his thoughts, but his body moved to take the offered seat. Almost petulantly, he admitted as he sat, “and yet I am here, and I am...curiously thankful”

 

“We can talk as we eat, Edward. Or, afterwards.” Nodding hesitantly but agreeably, Edward tucked in, indulging in at least two glasses of wine before he began to speak again. “I have a rather interesting case at work...” He trailed off, meeting Oswald’s eyes with the opening if he chose to take it. He did not try to hide a gleam of playfulness that tugged and shone at the edges of his eyes and mouth. Oswald immediately sat up, nearly preening in ego. “Go on friend, what makes it so interesting?”

 

“It seems a rather abhorrent soul met justice rather ironically.”

 

Oswald counted to a particular number in his head before responding.“Perhaps there is someone looking out for you then, someone who may wish for your good favor.”

 

“Well, “ Edward purred in between a clenched jaw, “well that would be very interesting indeed.” 

Staring  ahead, his mouth curled up at the edges as he stared appreciatively at the man before him. It wasn't the act, it wasn't the risk, but it seemed a thing greater than the sum of its parts.  He was pleased with the actions and the reach of the creature in front of him, Edward found himself wanting to reach forward and... taste. The taller man leaned forward tilting his head to the side, still staring wordlessly ahead as he mused which point in this heated silence might be most right to bite down. 

Oswald wasn't aware of Edward's thoughts ans was busily steeling himself to keep up returning the heavy stare before Edward broke the contest to dart his eyes to his neck. Oswald was sure Edward could see his pulse began to race..He tried to calm himself, it wouldn't do to reveal any weakness. A darkness in Ed's face that seemed to have more to do with physical pain confused Oswald as Edward began to twist his neck from side to side as if stretching out, but it seemed his neck only tinged more in pain as he twisted,  giving further into the feel of the pull of his muscles.

Instead of leaning backward, Edward slumped forward, his head drooping as he felt a long day's work settle in his shoulders. Hearing a chair shuffled towards him, he felt hands begin to massage his shoulders and biceps. Oswald 's fingers were not gentle as they massaged in circles. Edward guiltily realized that Oswald was likely versed in tending to muscle massages to relieve pain and tension. He lifted his hands to still Oswald's, feeling that his minor exhaustion paled in comparison to what Oswald must go through. Edward stared into an unguarded sympathetic but dangerously affectionate expression, before something in Edward's eyes must have revealed why Edward made him stop. Oswald drew his hands back to rest on the table, as his walls went up and he looked off bitterly. Edward creased his eyebrows in renewed guilt as his hand left hand grabbed Oswald’s chin tugging him back to meet his face.

“Can I ask you a question?” Edward asked, and he lowered his voice, making it sound rough to try to draw Oswald to a different sense of passion. Oswald’s expressed changed from defensive bitterness to a more promising guarded expression embarrassingly quickly. Forever putty in the other's hands, it would seem in the multiverse. Oswald was instinctively shifting into the Penguin at the symbolic shift in Edward’s voice. "I think i might know you.” He said, letting his hand fall from the other man's cheek before he rose from his chair to step in front of Oswald still sitting so closely. He raised an eyebrow in question but Oswald was still trying to appeal casual but distant and not at all troubled, so Edward took the initiative and climbed into his lap, his thighs settling down on Oswald's hips. He let the momentum excuse his movements as he settled, though he could feel no hint of disinterest from the man underneath him. Rather the opposite. Something dangerously close to a promise of truth and duty coiled through his following words.

“What do you ask me, Edward Nygma?” Thunder rumbled in the distance, Gotham was ever restful and tension in the room thickened with the mood. 

“What you did, are you in danger?” Edward drawled in almost a purr, relishing ever the open book in how Oswald’s pupils dilated. The other man at odds with the implied danger and the heated fight response it stirred in him. Edward felt his expression heaten as he felt the tense stubborn strength in Oswald's muscles tighten all over as the man answered, “I am always in danger, dear friend.” A sense of dread and destiny shook with a nearby lightening strike, a strange reddish color at that. but it was all it took for the two men in the room to silence the other and ignore the chaos outside.


	17. It is an appetite some wage annihilation to seek, prove, or avenge.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again
> 
> It seems too much to hope for, this lonely ship. All but forgotten, but we can hope that at some point the writers will have had a chance to catch up from the internet feedback on nygmobblepot and may address it more directly. Didn't everyone related to the show react with a form of suprise/confusion? Like they didn't expect people to focus on it. I think there has been a definate and undeniable reaction from fans.. Thats what keeps me watching nowadays.
> 
> Anyway, this story.
> 
> The steady thrum of feedback keeps me coming back to this story, so I thank you. I have hopes that as we cross 20k viewership will go up, and i might get me some more feedback.
> 
> So considering that milestone which I am looking forward to crossing, the next chapter will be broken up into two parts. The second of which (if you comment below yay or nay) could up the story rating to E. :) Up to you guys. Personally thinking this chapter really toes that line haha. So, apologies for the shorter chapter!
> 
> Leave a comment below, let me know what ya think of this chapter. I think you'll like it... If yer here for the same reasons I am.

Exterior Shot: Steady rainfall against the windows and flashes of lightning. 

 

Interior Shot: Being quite taller than Oswald, Edward had to hunch over to capture Oswald's mouth. But it was acceptable for this outcome. Edward made a note to seek out new wines at the local stores on his own, just to discover new tastes and flavors on Oswald's tongue. Whatever this vintage was, the sweet  on the other man's tongue made Edward try to pull it back into his mouth, to taste but his neck beginning to twinge. Leaning back and eyeing a chaise couch a half dozen yards to the side of the table, he debated with himself. He wasn't as young as he used to be, but still… 

Edward stood  and leaned down, he wrapped one arm around Oswald's torso and one under his thighs, taking only a few moments to shift his weight against him. Oswald stiffened in objection and mild outrage at being manhandled. Smirking dangerously at the brunet in his arms and how loudly Penguin projected on his flushed face, Edward took a minute to appreciate the feeling of Oswald adjusting himself to hold on Edward as best he could. Edward leaned in, his arms wrapping more tightly around Oswald as he allowed himself to say, “I believe I should be thanking you, for taking out the trash when I could not.“

 

 Feeling his weight mostly supported, his thighs wrapped around Edward’s waist and his hands wrapped up vertically around Edward's back. He mostly looked forward to the side, still heated and wanting, but feeling a bit vulnerable just the same. "I must say," Oswald dared, "I find myself rather agreeable to your current.. method of appreciation." And his squeezed his legs while trying to shimmer downward a bit to feel if Edward was just as hard.

 

The feeling of having him pressed around him darkened his mind again and he adjusted and tightened his grip on the bottom of Oswald thighs, pushing his fingernails in and smirking again at the shuddering he could feel from how close they were. This proximity was advantageous in observation and experimental endeavors. He drew his eyes to his destination, the chaise and carried him over, before throwing Oswald roughly down into his own chair. 

 

Heated by the challenge of being thrown around and then down, Oswald leaned forward as if to get up, lurching to grapple the other man needing to get back to that feeling he couldn't describe but silenced the loneliness that felt like it was freezing and burning impossibly at the same time. He wouldn't dare try to explain it, or even admit it, but he didn't need to try. By fortune or the same need, he was overpowered once more as Edward climbed into his lap and grabbed the sides of his face. Oswald steeled himself not to react to his relief at the friction and contact returning, after being carried and wrapped around him..even for a few moments...Oswald bit back a moan as he felt Edward tug him by the neck and scalp forward to meet his lips, both needing another taste.

 

It is a delicious thing, to taste the lips of one you crave. 

 

They broke minutes or an hour later to breathe in. Oswald could feel Edward’s hand wrapped up in his hair at the back of his scalp...almost keeping him in place.  Right now that's all there was, hands grasping the others hips or faces. He could feel and see Edward’s face had buried in his neck, breathing deeply but slowly.  Oswald tried not to shudder each time he swore he could feel the slightest of motions from Edward's lips against his skin.

 

Edward, keen to take the next step, found himself shuddering a each positive noise Oswald made. He tasted the other’s neck a few more times before leaving that spot for his outer shell of his ear, biting a trail that grew in intensity and the taller man began to growl slightly into Oswald’s ear. Edward put a hand down to grab at Oswald, his hand tugging on the zipper. Oswald hips rolled forward instinctively, groaning loudly in the empty and secure room. Edward responded by grinding downward in a half circle, muttering something against Oswald's neck.

 

The tiny part of Oswald that was instinctively in survival yearned to hear the missed words again, groaning out “neigh, what was that?” All his control went into that question as his body ground up against Edward tightening grip which was starting to move up and down. Oswald let out a louder more desperate moan, his own hands now reaching down to grope at Edward, feeling how hard the other man was as well made his mouth begin to water. He furrowing his eyebrow trying to restrain himself but he couldn't help roll up between Edward's legs again, trapping their hands between them.

Edward was very close to losing himself, there was that voice always in the back of his head that was silent but still threatening to take over. To just take. Then, feeling Oswald move up into them, and the sensation of almost painful pressure along with pleasure against his almost aching need, it centered the duality within him. They were in agreement. Edward lifted his head an inch or so back, Oswald couldn't see his face but could feel the warm breath of Edward as he separated himself. “I said, I think I would know you.” 

He pulled back to meet Oswald at eye level, still pressed down chest to chest in a line that connected them. Each could feel how much the other was similarly swept up in the moment, in the promise in the heat of thing. Edward needed to taste him, needed to feel Oswald's hands on him. His own fingers abandoned groping and instead focused on making short work of the fastening on Oswald's pants. He groaned and rolled down as he felt Oswald let out a small huff of satisfaction on unzipping Edward's pants in return.

Edwards left hand rose up at Oswald's back under his shirt and stopped only at the small of his back. His right hand sought out Oswald's length and gripped hard. He shuddered as he finally felt Oswald do the same to himself moments later. They laid there just gasping and savoring the new feeling for a few more minutes, or longer. 

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, Edward growled lowly in his throat, but it was strangled. Almost as if Edward was expecting some sort of interruption, but from a place of pessimism and chaos instead of foreknowledge.  Oswald more felt it than heard, and that sent a bolt of something fatalistic through his veins.  It felt consuming, unavoidable. Like a long walk off a short pier, but fate would not find him so easily. 

It was just a knock, _fate would not find him so easily._

There would have been a sign or hint if it was a siege or arrest, Penguin told himself. It was something he felt his staff could handle. He paid them handsomely for this trust. His staff had not betrayed him yet, _fate would not find him so easily,_ he trusted Olga. 

Still, Olga would not interrupt him unless it was important and it was better to be underestimated if something was afoot. H e coughed once then tried to yell out in an unaffected nonchalant tone, "What is it, Olga, you know I do not wish to be disturbed while I am alone." He stared up at Edward, letting the implication set: if there was a problem, Oswald was deciding that Edward would not be involved. Edward slowly withdrew his hand, squeezing as he went. His response was obvious, he would go but Oswald had other (better? more pleasurable/better?) options. Unfortunately, he did not have the time to instill this as the woman on the other side of the door that he wished wasn't there...

Olga said, “policeman is here, won't go away. Detective Gordon.” At this Edward stilled and climbed off Oswald entirely, hands now focused on fastening his pants and adjusting himself for effective escape.    
  


Oswald laughs, having accidentally but fortunately regained a semblance of power again over Edward he tries to reason with the man before he can catch his impressive wits. “Hide under the tablecloth, Mister Nygma.” and Edward looked back incredulously then back to the table where they shared a meal. The long table with a cherry opaque cloth that flowed with a weight to rest lightly on the floor.

 “Surely you can't be serious”

 

AN: There's definitely something crawling in the walls IRL, if you never hear from me again... it's a zombie or a were rat and I absolutely got eaten. Otherwise, stay tuned for terribly inappropriate shenanigans. 


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